


Lie Down With Me (And Just Forget the World)

by Mashikkara



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: B99 Fall 2019 Fic Exchange, F/M, Fluff, Morning Cuddles, Morning Kisses, post-haloveen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-12-27 07:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21114683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mashikkara/pseuds/Mashikkara
Summary: The morning after Haloveen.





	Lie Down With Me (And Just Forget the World)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OfButtsAndBombs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfButtsAndBombs/gifts).

> For ofbuttsandbombs, of all your awesome prompts, the one I choose is "snuggling closer for warmth". I hope you enjoy this  
A whole load of thanks to @amydancepants-peralta for being as awesome and helpful as she is. And for helping me with the title.  
Also to @meepmorpperaltiago for being there.

The morning light spilt into the room and with it brings the cold that Amy so desperately tries to keep out. The light prescribes a path for the tiny dust particles, dancing and swirling, almost like they too are revelling in the joy from yesterday. It’s a combination of both, with their feather-light touches, that wakes Amy up. Her consciousness returns to her gradually, and when she rubs her face, something that held the full cold of the night brushes against her cheeks. The thoughts of cold and dust and morning chores suddenly disappear and memories from yesterday-_ Ames, I love you, sex tape jokes, Will you marry me- _ explodes in her heart like those Fourth of July fireworks and she is almost knocked out of breath (again). Love and warmth fill her and she’s smiling, her eyes still shut, when she brings her thumb to run along her cold ring. It’s all real, she thinks, and her heart’s dancing again. She never thought something so cold could ever bring her such joy. But she supposes when Jake Peralta is involved, she should have checked her expectations at the door.

She knows she needs to get up. Their competitive streak forcing them to tear through the house making a mess, laundry bins overflowing and dishes waiting to be cleaned. She knows she should start on that coffee, go through her planner and start making appointments and start calling relatives (because she’s _ engaged _). But there’s a warm hand in her right hand and she just can’t.

Jake is on his stomach, hair messy and rumpled (partly her fault), his right leg crossing hers at the ankles, his face turned towards her, right hand firmly in hers. His side is messy, less than before, but messy still. Both their clothes are haphazardly thrown around their room (they were drunk and deliriously happy, so sue them), and she knows if she went to the kitchen now, remnants of the omelette will still be there. _ This _ is her forever. The Fourth of July fireworks has nothing on her.

(They had only been to the fireworks once. Jake had _ insisted _ they go see the Coney Island fireworks, as a couple about a year into their relationship. She had just closed a very gruelling case two days ago and was not interested in more exerting activities, but then he gave her his patented puppy-eyes and promises of massages ( _ before, after and during, Ames. Whenever you want _) and well, it had been too long since they had done something like this and what the hell, she too wanted to see the fireworks. Jake’s face as they sat on the sand, Amy tucked to his side, wrapped in a blanket he had remembered to bring, as the first illumination went up and exploded was worth the long and tiring walks, the crowd and the general restlessness. A photo of them, the colour of pyrotechnics reflecting off their faces with smiles that could light up the sky themselves hangs on their refrigerator). 

A breeze comes knocking and a shiver responds and she is very rudely reminded of the cold. It seems Jake is too, as he hums and tightens his grip on her. So she moves towards him, her face finding its wonted place between his neck and shoulders and her lips lining his shoulders with floaty kisses.

He sighs and pulls her closer, his smile etching into her hair. He mumbles _ good morning _ , voice thick, sleep lowering every note, breaking the silence. She mumbles it back, voice almost as airy as breath. She smiles again and she can’t believe that _ this _, this right here is her tomorrow, her forever and she’s sure that if not for the hand around her waist, she would have floated away like a hot-air balloon, her happiness making her so much lighter.

(She had booked them both a hot-air balloon ride, last year, during peak fall. A family friend owned it and was happy to oblige her request. But as soon as they got in, ready to take off, rain poured in from nowhere and drenched her big romantic gesture. The weather stayed the same pretty much all day and they couldn’t ride at all. But as they found a shelter, Jake said it didn't matter because all the best romances have at least one grand scene in rain and they ended up recounting and reciting all their favourite rain scenes. And as they were about to leave, he kissed her, long and languid under the shower. He still has that photo of her, staring at the sky in challenge, fall colours splashed behind her and the autumn leaves around her with a lone leaf somehow finding its way into her hair.)

She wants to stay here forever, so she forgets the mess, the laundry and the dishes. She snuggles impossibly closer to him and breaths him in. He smells like his cologne, the precinct, like Shaw’s and a little bit like her. He smells like their awkward first date, the whirlwind second and fresh mattresses. He smells like yesterday, today and tomorrow. And the next day and the next day and the next day. He smells like home- as cliché as it sounds- smells like hers, always and forever. 

He’s sketching patterns onto her spine, whorls achingly familiar, which her tangled thoughts are yet to figure out. Her brain slowly catches up and she feels him write _ love, love, love _on her. She’s bursting at the seams again, so she kisses up his neck, tracing his jaw, settling on his lips.

Their kiss is slow, without yesterday’s fire and passion, but with love and warmth abundant nonetheless. His hands are everywhere. Dragging across her spine, plunging into her hair, lacing with her fingers. They break for air and he brings their laced hands up. He looks like he can’t believe that the finger on her hand is real. He looks at her and whispers in a daze, _ we’re getting married _. The joy, marvel, disbelief is reflected in her as she echoes him. He kisses each knuckle, lingering on her ring.

She laces their hands together, again. She is about to capture his lips again when his phone started buzzing off the hook. He sighs and grabs his phone and says _ congratulations are pouring in, Santiago, the world is looking at us. _

She takes his phone and puts it away and kisses him long and hard and whispers onto his lips, _ the world can wait. _


End file.
